


Saved For Last

by mongoose_bite



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonverse AU, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: She was a dwarf, a duster, an innocent victim, a threat to the throne, a Grey Warden and a hero. She fought dirty, never gave up, and she had the strange and annoying habit of saving his life.Originally posted on ffnet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in 2010, and originally published on fanfiction.net. I was tempted to edit it, because boy does it need editing, but if I did it now I think I'd end up rewriting it and I'd rather it stay as it was as a completed fic. I've learned a lot since I wrote it, and I apologise in advance for any mistakes.

“I would like to give you this mace.” The corner of Duncan’s mouth twitched, just slightly. “Since you don’t have many possessions of your own.”

They’d taken everything that wasn’t nailed down on their way through the Carta hideout, and Leske and Donni Brosca grinned at each other, weighed down by their ill-gotten loot. 

“Much appreciated.” Donni accepted the weapon politely and added it to her collection. The dwarf took a deep breath and glanced at her sister and her best friend. “Well, I hope I don’t mess this up.”

“Wouldn’t worry about that, salroka. All you need to do is kill enough darkspawn and when you come back they’ll make you a paragon.” Leske thumped her on the back, although Donni could hardly feel it through all the items in her pack.

“Right, and then you’ll want me to marry you I suppose?” 

“No offence, but I think I’d prefer your sister. She’d be a noble too, right?”

She smacked him in a friendly sort of fashion on the arm. She was going to miss her friend, and despite everything he said, she knew he’d take care of Rica. But she didn’t feel sad, or even all that nervous. When she gazed up at the Grey Warden who’d saved her from execution, she felt something she’d often professed, but rarely truly felt.

Pride.

He’d seen something in her that her face brand had blinded all other dwarves to. He’d spoken up for her in defiance of his hosts’ traditions. He’d given her a fine weapon, and a second chance. The Grey Wardens, the Blight, even the darkspawn held little meaning for her, but a kind word and a mace were enough to make up her mind.

She was going. Really going. She hugged her sister, and hit Leske one last time for good luck and gave him more than half of the loot they’d collected. She held her head high, determined and proud as she walked beside the Grey Warden. 

In all the excitement she wasn’t really prepared for the surface. She was still imagining her triumphant return to Orzammar with a friendly crew of fellow Grey Wardens to show off when she found herself at the gates of the city. 

Duncan preceded her into the sunlight, and Donni marched right out behind him. 

“Oh.” She raised her gaze to the limitless vault of the sky above them, squinting with eyes that had never seen the sun before.

“Ah, of course. This is your first time on the surface. Take a moment, if you need it.” She heard Duncan talking to her, but he sounded distant as a wave of vertigo washed over her.

She reached out and steadied herself on his arm. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” she mumbled, staring at the ground between her feet and trying to take deep breaths. To her relief, the feeling soon passed, and she didn’t vomit all over her shoes. The last thing she wanted was for Duncan to change his mind.

“Okay,” she raised her head. “I’m good. Let’s get going. Um, where are we going anyway?” 

“We will be travelling south, to the ruins of Ostagar at the edge of the Korcari Wilds.” Duncan continued to explain, but none of it meant a lot to Donni. They were heading south to fight darkspawn, and that was enough for her. She listened attentively, nevertheless, and watched the sunlight gleam off Duncan’s armour and the ring in his ear.

He was, she decided, kind, strong and utterly gorgeous. 

As they travelled down from the Frostback Mountains he did little to change her opinion. Her life in Dust Town had taught Donni the importance of information, and he was a rich vein she mined assiduously, on a variety of subjects from darkspawn to surface history to human culture and the weather, the latter of which was an endless source of alarm and fascination to her.

He taught her to ride, after a fashion, and to not pick every pocket she saw. She told him of the lot of the Casteless, although she didn’t understand why he’d be interested. He was endlessly patient of her ignorance, and only slightly less so of her smart remarks. 

He treated her fairly, like a person and not a brand. Like a friend even. And while she was sure he was impressed, after a fashion, with the amount of human ale she could put away, she realised it wasn’t the sort of impressed that would lead to even a friendly tumble. Especially given he didn’t even try to keep pace with her.

Rica had kept the finer points of landing a man to herself to protect her little sister from the pseudo-profession she hated so much, but Donni wished she’d given one or two hints anyway. Duncan always turned her down with a slightly bemused air when she offered to arm wrestle.

Maybe it was a cultural thing.

The week on the road to Ostagar was one of the best of Donni’s life, regardless of her unnoticed crush. Although she was looking forward to meeting more Grey Wardens, and slitting a few darkspawn throats, she was also aware that Duncan’s attention would move on. He had, in her vague imaginings, an army to lead and a Blight to end. Even the most optimistic outcome would see him busy with a thousand things more important than her.

They were less than a day out from Ostagar, and Donni had seen the wilds stretching off endlessly before them as the sun set. Their next camp, she realised, would be with an army. It seemed hard to believe, as she gazed into the flames of their little campfire. She’d been worried at first about darkspawn ambushing them, but Duncan had reassured her that he’d know if any approached.

She sighed.

“Are you missing your home?” he asked.

“What? Orzammar? No, I mean, I miss Rica, but I’m sure she’ll be fine. I’m just a bit sad that this is going to end.” She waved her arm vaguely, “You know, travelling. You.”

“I should hope I’m not about to end. Not before the battle at least.”

“No I mean, I’ll miss you. Like this.” She bunched her fists in sudden determination. “Ah, sod it.” What is a Grey Warden if she is not brave, after all?

She got to her feet and took a deep breath. She stepped around the fire and knelt in front of him, pressing her hands on top of his (outsized, armoured, oddly-proportioned, human) shoulders and kissing him with inexpert enthusiasm. She counted maybe two seconds.

He wrapped his fingers around hers and firmly took her hands off his shoulders. She got the hint and she pulled back, feeling guilty and extremely foolish. It had been worth a try, right? 

“I’m very flattered,” he said gently, “But that’s not really appropriate.” He let her go and she scrambled back to her original place by the fire, drawing her knees up and hugging them.

“I know,” she mumbled. “I promise I won’t embarrass you again.” It would be nice if she never embarrassed herself again, but she decided to stick to promises she could keep. “I’m sorry,” she added, just in case her expression hadn’t made it obvious.

“No harm done,” Duncan said tolerantly. He wasn’t looking at her, and Donni was grateful. “We were all young once.” 

Donni wasn’t in the mood to hear a story and Duncan didn’t appear to be in the mood to tell her one, so as soon as she could Donni wrapped herself up in her bedroll and waited for her face to stop burning. 

By the next morning it had, but she was looking forward to the distraction of Ostagar and whatever awaited them there. Duncan didn’t treat her any differently, but she found herself hanging back and not asking her usual questions. She didn’t appear to have done any irreparable damage, although her pride was rather bruised. He said he was flattered, but she had to admit he didn’t really look it. He looked a bit surprised, but nothing more dramatic than his usual bemusement at her idiosyncrasies.

She couldn’t help but wonder if similar things had happened to him before. The thought made her feel slightly worse.

The Tower of Ishal rose up to their right and before them was Ostagar, bustling with activity it had not seen in centuries. Donni gazed around her with wide eyes, trying to look at everything at once.

And then they met the king. The human king. The actual king, in armour that shone like the sun, was talking to Duncan, and then, to Donni’s endless surprise, to her. He called her friend, and asked her name. She smiled in an awestruck way and managed to answer him, and he promised to share Dwarven ale with her. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she was now a firm convert to the human varieties. 

She knew it was reflected glory, and that Cailan was there to talk to Duncan, but she was still deeply impressed with the young king. 

Duncan gave her free reign of the camp, and Donni grinned at him, her embarrassment forgotten. She was determined to talk to everyone she met, land on her feet, and prove to herself that the brand on her face meant nothing.

She talked to soldiers and mages, her guileless enthusiasm wheedling scraps of information and gossip out of the guards. She heard for the first time the legend of Teyrn Loghain, and dreadfully curious, she asked if she could see the famed general.

She was hoping just to get a look inside the tent, but to her surprise the guard went and fetched the man himself. Donni kept her backbone, and greeted him politely. Cailan had been friendly from the instant he’d seen her with Duncan, but Loghain was far more reserved. He was forming impressions of some kind, and Donni stood up a bit straighter. She could believe he was the brains of this particular outfit.

He seemed, if anything, slightly nonplussed. But he was polite, and he seemed impressed to learn she was from Orzammar itself, rather than the surface. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll be riding into battle with the rest of your fellows, will you?”

Donni recognised a leading question when she heard one, but she couldn’t imagine what kind of answer he was expecting, so she answered honestly, “I hope not!” Riding a quiet little pony alongside Duncan was one thing, galloping a warhorse into battle was something else.

“Huh! You’re wiser than you look.”

It was a backhanded compliment, but Donni thanked him anyway. He left her with some cryptic advice and returned to his duties. Donni was left with the impression that she’d talked to a very important person, again, who’d been reasonably happy to talk to her.

Donni supposed she’d better find this Alistair. But first she gave herself a silent but firm talking to. “Everyone I’ve met so far has been noble and polite or kind and treats me with respect and they’re all …tall.” She marched past the mages, composing her lecture with a knitted brow. “But I am absolutely not going to fraternise with my superiors. That’s not how humans do things.”

Right. Sorted.

Alistair.

In a sense he reminded her of Leske, but without the casual lechery. He sent the mage off in a huff and Donni decided they’d get on fine. “I’m looking forward to travelling with you,” she said with a grin.

“That’s a switch.” Alistair seemed surprised. She exuded general delight with everything for a while as they made their way back through the camp. “So uh, you like Ostagar then?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah! I’ve met some amazing people.”

By the same time tomorrow, two of those men would be dead, left to die by the third, and Donni would have no cause to feel delight for a long time.

Donni woke up in the witches’ hut with a hole in her heart. But whatever she felt for Duncan, it was clear that Alistair had lost a lot more. So she buried her grief, and set her jaw. It was there, with Flemeth looking on and Alistair trying to hold himself together that Donni vowed to follow in the footsteps of the man she’d so admired and lost so quickly. 

In Dust Town there had been no rules, no moral code. All she’d done was try to survive. If she’d hurt innocents, stolen, or lied, it had made little difference to her. Now she was a Grey Warden, she had a purpose, and a guide.

She would ask herself, when faced with a choice between life and death, what Duncan would have done.


	2. Chapter 2

Loghain did not forget the first time he met the Warden. It was on the eve of the battle at Ostagar, and he had already made his plans within plans. When his guard told him the Grey Warden recruit wanted to see him, he knew he would be talking to a dead girl. He had no reason to speak with her, but he refused to spare himself another pair of innocent eyes to haunt his guilty dreams. It was the least he could do for her.

Despite Cailan’s enthusiasm, Loghain had no particular expectations. Nevertheless, he was surprised by what he saw, and didn’t quite manage to hide it. He’d never seen anyone, let alone a dwarf, wearing blue lipstick before, and managing to carry it off as well. It matched her facebrand, and reminded him, oddly enough, of the kaddis that clad the hounds. She was painted for battle.

Presumably Duncan knew what he was doing.

He spoke briefly with her, watching her absorb impressions like a sponge, her eyes bright and determined. 

But he had things to do, and never expected to see her again.

It didn’t occur to him, days later, when a battered group of his own men passed on a message from the surviving Wardens, that she might have been the one to send it. She’d been a recruit, after all, and despite the fact that someone survived to light the beacon at the top of the tower, he could hardly imagine anyone surviving the descent.

The message was laughably childish, but Loghain had not forgotten hurling similar taunts at Orlesians.

“You’ll have to do better than that.” 

And then they vanished, and trying to track them down was like trying to nail smoke to the wall. The next time he saw the Warden she was on his home turf, in Denerim. 

She was standing with Arl Eamon, and Maric’s bastard son. The latter did not look particularly happy to be there, and Loghain knew instantly who was behind this challenge to the throne; who his real opponent was and had always been.

She looked older, the kind of age that was acquired not through the agency of time, but of things done and seen in the course of war. She was still wearing blue makeup though, and her short gold hair was braided just as before. She was coldly insolent, and completely unintimidated by Ser Cauthrien. Or him if it came to that, although she watched him like one would watch a sleeping bear.

The next few days saw the foundations of Loghain’s carefully constructed plans turn to sand. Anora vanished into Eamon’s estate, and no one could tell him for certain if the Wardens had actually ever been incarcerated at Fort Drakon let alone when and how they’d escaped. Rendon Howe got what was coming to him, and Loghain was furious but couldn’t deny a certain sense of relief that justice, of a sort, had been served.

All his machinations had been in vain; it had come down to the Landsmeet, and Loghain could sense disaster in the air as strongly as he had at Ostagar. Disaster for whom, it was impossible to say.

He watched her as the bannorn gave their loyalty to the Grey Wardens, to her and her would-be puppet-king. How a Dwarf, and a Casteless one at that, had convinced the banns to follow her was beyond him. Dispassionately, she laid bare his crimes, and those of Howe, and he snarled and defended, even when his own daughter spoke against him - a blow he had never seen coming.

Despite everything, despite the danger she would be in if she lost this fight, he could see her mind was on something else; the danger on the horizon. He was not, and had never been, her greatest enemy. He was just another obstacle on the way to defeating the darkspawn. He understood that kind of single-minded devotion to duty. He respected it. And when the time came that they would fight, as he knew it would, he respected her.

"'A man is made by the quality of his enemies.' Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me,” he told her, as the crowd parted like a spectators at a drunken fight at an inn to allow them room.

He saw her smile then, the crafty, crooked grin of a street-rat. “That depends,” she said, flicking her blades out of their scabbards, “On who wins, doesn’t it?”

And then she attacked. She used her smaller frame to great advantage, sliding under his blade, tumbling like an acrobat, striking out with blades and feet at weak points in his armour. Loghain knew his sword would go right through her leather armour, and that she was relying on speed to keep herself alive. The knowledge didn’t help him much.

It was a long, gruelling fight. Her blades had found the gaps in his armour in dozens of places, and the floor beneath him was slippery with blood, most - but not all - of it his. He’d managed to hit her with his shield, and her nose was a bloody mess. He could barely hear the shouts of the crowd above the sound of his own harsh breathing, and the blood pounding in his ears.

He was old, she was young, and the fight was ending. She caught his blade with one of her own, metal sliding against metal as she deflected the force and kicked viciously at the back of his knee. It must have been a dwarven thing, because she’d done it half a dozen times before, and this time was one too many. His knee buckled, refused to hold his weight any longer, and he fell. 

She danced away from him, wary of some trick, but Loghain knew it was over. He’d done his best, he believed, and he’d lost. He let his weapons fall.

“I yield!” He was aware they might be the last words he’d ever say. 

No blade descended on his neck, however, not yet at least. “Did I ever tell you about the time I snuck into the Proving Grounds and nearly won?” she asked in nasal tones, ignoring her ruined nose. She was out of breath, and a gash on her leg was bleeding freely, but her eyes were bright with battle fever, and the fight still in her. She looked more animated now than she had when talking to the Landsmeet.

Loghain bowed his head before her, and awaited his fate. Anora would speak for him, but he knew it was not her decision to make.

The circle mage approached and tried to inconspicuously heal her nose as the dwarf held it in place with a confidence that suggested this sort of thing had happened before. To Loghain’s surprise the Warden with the hateful accent, the one Howe had quietly removed (of course they would have freed him; Loghain doubted there were any occupied cells left in the city) came up with a suggestion. Recruitment, rather than execution.

The dwarf tilted her head, rubbing blood off her face with the back of her hand. 

“Huh, that’s not a bad idea.” He couldn’t suppress a jolt of hope, even as he watched his own blood drip onto the floor. No matter how hard one tried, it was difficult to resign oneself to death. He didn’t deserve more time and he wanted this to end, he told himself. But a human heart never wanted to stop beating. 

“You could have one of Fereldan’s greatest generals at your side,” Anora offered, seizing the chance to save her father’s life.

“No, wait! I can’t believe you’re considering this.” It was Maric’s bastard, of course. He’d been radiating utter hate ever since he’d stepped into the Landsmeet. “Becoming a Grey Warden isn’t a punishment-“

“I know that-“ She was arguing back. He didn’t know why.

“I’m not going to let you do this. I’ll, I’ll become king, and I’ll take the crown. Or are you going to oppose that too?”

“No, of course not. I support you-“

“But you promised you’d support me.” That was Anora, furious at being out-manoeuvred. Loghain cursed the older Warden then; if he hadn’t suggested the Joining, whatever that was, Anora at least would have remained queen. Now he’d lose that as well as his life. 

“Sorry, Lady, politics.” The Warden didn’t sound particularly sorry. 

“As my first act as king, I call for this man’s execution.” 

Loghain closed his eyes. If not redemption, then at least he would get peace.

“Not so fast, Sire.” He could hear the pleading tone in her voice as she willed him to see her reasoning. He’d been in the same position hundreds of times with Cailan, and he knew it was hopeless. “I can invoke the Right of Conscription.”

“You’d do that? You’d save the man that betrayed his king, and killed Duncan?” Ah, so that was the root of it. Loghain had been having trouble believing the bastard was so fond of his legitimate half-brother. 

“Yes, I would.” Loghain’s curiosity got the better of him; he tilted his head and tried to catch her expression from the corner of his eye. She was defensive, jaw set and determined like a mabari. “It’s what Duncan would do,” she said carefully. Her gaze slid down to him and their eyes met before he bowed his head again. “I think,” she added quietly.

“I refuse to call this man brother. And how dare you invoke Duncan’s name for this, this…” He ran out of words vile enough to describe Loghain. 

“Are you going to defy me on this?” she asked icily. 

The whelp backed down, as Loghain suspected he did on a regular basis. “Do what you will; I’ll have no part in it,” he said, in a voice rich with fury and hurt. “You, of all people…” And with that stunning display of temper, the new king turned his back on them. The Warden drew breath to argue, but the rising murmur of the crowed must have reminded her of their audience.

“I see,” was all she said. “Let’s get this done. Wynne?” Loghain could feel the mage already starting to heal his wounds. 

Anora was being dealt with, and Loghain was relieved to note that she wasn’t going to be harmed. He’d started getting to his feet when he felt himself yanked upwards. She’d hooked her hands under the edges of his pauldrons and had pulled until they were eye-to-eye, Loghain still on his knees. He didn’t resist. He’d lost the right to.

“You’d better be worth it,” she growled. 

He could have told her then. Said all he wanted was peace, and a swift death, that her mercy was misplaced. But his human heart stopped his voice, and he said nothing. He would live, at least a while longer, and atone for some of his mistakes. 

Her eyes were grey.


	3. Chapter 3

Donni didn’t know if she’d made the right decision. Saving Loghain was what Duncan would have done, she was convinced. Anything to stop the blight. Anyone. But she had misjudged Alistair, and now it looked like she would fight without him. He had resolutely ignored her ever since the Landsmeet and none of the other companions who’d approached him had gotten more than two words out of the new king.

As for Loghain himself, Donni didn’t know what to think. She’d been mildly surprised when he’d survived the Joining, given how haggard he’d looked at the Landsmeet. His deeds had cost him, obviously. He’d been polite enough, and followed orders like an automaton. He was far closer to how Donni imagined a golem would be than Shale was. Perhaps her decision hadn’t been the kindest one from his perspective. 

Tough.

He was a resource. Like everything else she was scraping together to throw at the Archdemon. Once she’d seen his potential use, she knew she couldn’t just throw all that experience away. And now that Alistair had removed himself from the immediate equation, Loghain would have to pick up the slack, like it or not.

The other companions weren’t certain either, and so Donni put on a determined, confident face. If it hadn’t been the correct decision, she’d make it one. Duncan’s memory hadn’t steered her wrong yet. And that was where the difference lay between her and Alistair. Alistair had mourned Duncan, was still mourning him, but Donni had tried to become him.

She told Loghain her name, but he insisted on calling her Warden. Everyone gave up their titles and last names when they became Wardens, but Donni felt she’d managed to lose her first name as well. It was mildly aggravating but didn’t hold it against him. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to be friends.

They met at Arl Eamon’s estate, as they were still likely to get an extremely frosty reception at the palace. 

“It will take us time to gather the army. And we must get word to the elves and the tower, yes? We will move as fast as we can, but it may take a week or more.” Arl Eamon hadn’t been enthusiastic about having Loghain under his roof, but seemed satisfied that becoming a warden had neutralised him as a threat. 

“Good,” Donni said. “There is still one treaty we have not yet seen honoured. We will settle it and meet the rest of our forces at Redcliffe.” 

She’d been putting it off. Orzammar. This wasn’t how she imagined her triumphant return. At least it would give her a chance to try and integrate Loghain into their fighting unit before they faced their real foe.

They had no reason to remain in Denerim, and Donni left as soon as possible, if for no other reason but to get Loghain out of there. Zevran had told her quietly that her latest recruit may have given any number of people reason enough to see him assassinated, Grey Warden or not.

She was relieved to be back on the road again. Dealing with human nobility and politics was not something she’d enjoyed. Loghain appeared to improve a bit as well. An old soldier, he marched without flagging until the sun set, and put them all to shame setting up camp with a speed that belied his age. 

Morrigan suggested he might turn out to be a better cook than Alistair, and he was, after a fashion, but Donni could see Leliana still thought Fereldan cooking left a lot to be desired. Just wait until she tries Dwarven cuisine, Donni thought. When they sat down to eat Loghain was quiet, but looking a little less sick than he had done in Denerim. And the dog liked him. Gryphon had sensed, somehow, that the old general might be a soft touch, and soon enough was rolling on the ground like a puppy in exchange for scraps.

Leliana thought it was cute. She’d told Donni she thought saving Loghain was the right decision. “He was a hero, you know, and everyone deserves a second chance to make things right.”

“How do you make something like that right?” Wynne asked sadly. Unlike Leliana, she’d been at Ostagar, and had known Cailan. 

Donni let them talk. She wouldn’t tell them what to think, and ultimately it was up to Loghain to win their acceptance. 

“At least he’s an improvement on Alistair,” Morrigan said. “Not that it’s saying much, mind you.”

Donni did not want to be reminded of Alistair. She’d been reasonable for long enough.

“That big stupid, idiot!” Even the dog looked up from his food at her outburst. Donni didn’t care; she was allowed her moment of rage. “Doesn’t he understand how important this is? He could have put it aside until after the Blight.”

“Evidentially not. If you believe Alistair could put his feelings aside,” Morrigan pointed out, “you didn’t know him that well.” 

“I gave him the crown.” She glowered, “I just hope he knows what to do with it.”

“Don’t we all,” Loghain spoke up, meeting her gaze expressionlessly.

“Ah, it speaks,” Shale said. “I was beginning to wonder if it could.”

“At length, even, going by the performance at the Landsmeet,” Zevran added.

“I’d rather not discuss that,” Loghain said, obviously making an effort to make it a request rather than an order.

“Seconded,” Donni said, “Drop it, Zev.” She didn’t really want to go over it either.

She noticed Loghain help himself to thirds, but didn’t say anything. Riordan had warned Loghain what to expect from the tainted blood, and if Loghain wanted to close his ears because of the elder Warden’s accent, that was his problem.

The group dispersed after dinner, and Donni sat with the bard. 

“Would you tell me one of your tales?” she asked.

“Of course, what would you like to hear?”

Donni nodded in the direction of their newest recruit. “Do you know his story?”

“Of course I do. He’s very famous. But perhaps not among the Dwarves, hm? He was born nothing more than the son of a common farmer, in Fereldan during the Orlesian occupation,” she began.

Donni rested her chin on her hands and listened to Leliana weave her tale. It was similar to the one she’d heard, in brief, from the guard outside Loghain’s tent in Ostagar, but Leliana told it far better. Donni spent many evenings listening to Leliana; she’d had so much to learn about the surface world when she’d started this quest, and the bard was only too happy to tell her tales of history and myth.

When Leliana finished, Donni realised that she was none the wiser about Loghain. The Loghain in the story bore little resemblance to the grim-faced man carefully cleaning his boots in front of his tent. 

“I have to ask him what happened,” Donni told Leliana.

“Good luck.”

She got up and walked over to Loghain. He glanced up as she approached, but didn’t say a word. 

She sat down and Gryphon wandered over, and she scratched him behind the ears as his tongue lolled lovingly. She couldn’t play with the dog forever and she decided Loghain probably wasn’t one for small talk, anyway.

“Why?” she asked him. He knew what she was referring to.

“To save Fereldan from its own foolish king. Although I see I’ve done little but delay the inevitable.”

“Alistair is not-,” she shook her head. “He knows what the Blight is. He will not underestimate it.”

“Yet I notice he is in Denerim, not here.” Loghain didn’t sound malicious, merely tired.

“He let his emotions get in the way. And so did you,” she said pointedly.

“Do you think I wanted Calian to die? Do you think I enjoyed having all those deaths on my conscience?” he snarled suddenly. 

“No. But it was the threat of Orlesians, wasn’t it?” She shrugged, “Human politics. Nothing but a dangerous diversion during the Blight.”

“And I suppose Dwarven politics have never cost them battles in the Deep Roads?” He’d reigned himself in fast, or simply had no reserves of anger left.

She had to acknowledge his point, even if her caste prevented her from knowing any details of Dwarven politics. 

“But you were wrong,” she pressed on. “Your actions nearly cost- may still cost us everything. If Alistair and I hadn’t survived, Fereldan would be helpless before the Blight.”

“You sound so certain of that.”

She looked at him bleakly, “You’ll be certain too, soon enough. Just you wait.”

“For what?”

“For the Archdemon to speak to you.”

Loghain sighed. “I did what I believed was my duty to my country, no matter how distasteful, no matter how history might judge me.” He paused, “No matter the cost.”

That sounded familiar. “I understand,” Donni said, watching the campfire start to die. She saw Loghain look up sharply from the corner of her eye. “I may not know all the details, and I still don’t agree with what you did. But I understand.” She’d shouldered the duty of the Grey Wardens, even when Alistair had turned his back on it; she’d coerced and sacrificed, and dealt with people she’d rather never have known existed. She’d put to the sword almost everyone who had got in her way.

Loghain was one of the few to survive. 

She patted Gryphon one last time, and got to her feet. She nodded at Loghain, ready to leave him in peace at last.

“Why?” She stopped at his question. He didn’t need to tell her what he was referring to.

She turned to face him, spreading her hands, “Because we need you. Riordin came out of nowhere, but even with him there were only three of us in the country. I don’t know how many Grey Wardens are needed to stop a Blight, but I think three is pushing it.”

“And I couldn’t kill you,” she continued, surprising herself, “once I knew I didn’t have to. I’ve been there, you know.” She met his gaze, feeling that old pride. “Waiting to be executed. Well, flogging, then loss of my left hand, then loss of my right hand, then execution. I don’t want to add executioner to everything else I’ve done.”

He raised his eyebrows. “There must be quite a story behind that.”

She smiled; time had recoloured the memories as mostly happy ones. “I snuck into a Proving. I nearly won.”

“Ah, I see. Dwarves take this sort of thing very seriously, don’t they?”

“Almost as seriously as humans take regicide,” she said innocently. “I desecrated sacred ground. Duncan had to conscript me.”

“He made a good choice then.” Loghain didn’t rise to her bait.

“Yes. I think he made a point of recruiting the condemned. The taint’s a death sentence, ultimately, and you don’t want to recruit too many people with a lot to live for.” She remembered Duncan sliding his blade into Ser Jory, merely for what he knew, and her eyes narrowed. “We all do what duty compels us to. Kill innocents, betray our friend.” She shrugged, “All we have left to redeem us is sacrifice.”

“Thank you then, Warden, for giving me that chance,” Loghain said gravely. Donni nodded, now knowing Loghain would do whatever she required of him. 

That night the Archdemon roared in her dreams. She woke after only a few hours rest, biting back bile to hear Gryphon barking frantically. She grabbed her weapons and charged out of her tent in her nightshirt to see a dozen shrieks materialise around the campsite.

“Rouse yourselves!” Shale bellowed, and swung its fist into the nearest darkspawn. Gryphon howled and then pandemonium reigned as everyone joined in the fight, only Morrigan fully dressed for battle; the mage must have stayed up studying her mother’s tome. 

“They’ll have to do better than that!” Leliana called. 

Donni nudged Sten as she darted past him to lend assistance to Morrigan. “Do you think the Hero of River Dane has ever fought a battle like this?” she asked with a grin.

“Unlikely. I haven’t.”

Donni glanced over to see Loghain was fighting bare-chested, doing his best to protect Wynne and Zevran while appearing not to notice what they were or weren’t wearing. The former was in a wool nightgown that reached her ankles, but the latter was wearing nothing but a few tattoos. Loghain’s stoicism in the face of such unorthodoxy was an image Donni was going to treasure.

The last of the shrieks died and everyone was left slightly breathless, still catching up with being awake at that hour. 

“Everyone all right?” Donni called.

She was answered with several contemptuous comments about the ability of their attackers. Business as usual then.

“You really carry yourself well for a man your age,” Zevran said brightly to Loghain.

“Hrm.” He eyed him dubiously.

Wynne rescued him. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked the elf.

“Terribly, awfully cold.” Zevran hunched his shoulders to demonstrate. “May I warm myself in your bosom?”

Wynne fended him off with her staff, “You may warm yourself in your tent. Without my bosom or any other part of me.”

Donni picked her way over to Loghain, barefoot. “Did you see it?” she asked.

He nodded, “The Archdemon. It was like it could see me- see us.”

“Yeah. The camp’s not safe anymore. Although we’re probably not in a lot of danger, given Shale doesn’t need to sleep. Still, I kind of like uninterrupted sleep.”

“You can sleep through those-?”

“Nightmares? You get used to them. Sort of. At least, I don’t wake up anymore.” She raised an eyebrow, “Are you cold?”

Loghain crossed his arms defensively. “No.”

Donni grinned. “Goodnight, Loghain.”

“Warden.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Warden’s group reminded Loghain of the rebel army, oddly enough. There wasn’t much of a chain of command, and the company was so diverse that it was far more expedient to let everyone do what they did best, rather than trying to organise them anyway. 

They were attacked several times on the road to Orzammar, and Loghain found himself ordered about until the Warden had decided what to do with him. 

“That armour is blinding,” she told him. “Just look shiny and distracting so Zev and I can sneak up behind them. And protect the mages.”

It wasn’t Loghain’s first time killing darkspawn, but it was his first time sensing them as well. Sometimes the buzz in his head would be from a group over the next rise, and sometimes it was the Archdemon talking to its horde hundreds of miles away. He could see it in the Warden’s face when she heard it too, and they’d share a glance before warning the group that trouble approached.

Loghain found himself the target of pointed remarks and on the defending side of a few arguments, but to his surprise the group accepted him, and let him have his place. Only the old circle mage seemed to bear him any grudge. The Warden travelled with strange companions, most of whom were indifferent to the fate of a king not their own. 

Loghain found it peaceful. Many times over the years he had felt nostalgic for the days before he had politics and royalty to worry about, and when he’d least expected it, those days had come again. 

Every morning the Warden would sit outside her tent and braid her hair and make up her face. He’d thought it needless affectation at first, but it was a silent ritual that he realised it was just as important to her as polishing his armour was to him. When she was done, she was ready to fight.

And fight she did. She would disappear into the melee of battle with the assassin, and sometimes he’d look down to find her under his left elbow, snatching a moment of shelter behind his shield to reapply her poison or give an order. He altered his stance slightly to compensate for it, and could soon tell without looking when she was there.

She scouted ahead of the main party with the assassin, and took great delight in throwing homemade bombs and flasks of noxious substances in the faces of their enemies.

“I notice you didn’t use any of those tricks when we duelled,” Loghain noted once, as they caught their breath after another skirmish. 

“Well, no. That was a duel; a fair fight.” Pause. “Mostly.” She grinned, “I don’t think those nobles would have approved if I started throwing acid all over their assembly chamber anyway.”

“Likely not.”

She had apparently been satisfied with the explanation for his actions that he’d given her that first night, because she didn’t ask him about it again, although he kept expecting her to. 

She approached him again one evening and he instinctively tensed, expecting another awkward conversation. 

“You’ve been to Redcliffe, I assume.” She never started a conversation like a normal person, instead simply launching without preamble into whatever was on her mind. “Is it really a good place to meet the darkspawn? If we’re not careful we could end up trapped against the lake.”

He raised his eyebrows, “You’re asking me?”

“You’re a great strategist, aren’t you?” She folded her arms. “Who else would I ask?”

“My strategies so far haven’t met with your approval,” he pointed out.

She waved her hand dismissively, “That wasn’t a strategy at all; that was paranoia.” She looked down at him with a funny little smile, “You caused me no end of trouble, salroka, and I’m gonna make you pay me back tenfold.”

Loghain felt the muscles in his face twitch as he fought the unexpected urge to smile back. No one had talked to him with such aggressive familiarity for a long time. Not since Maric died.

“Teach me strategy,” she said firmly.

His heart leaped. Where did you come from, he wondered. He recognised enough of himself in her to know she could be the one capable of lifting the mantle of ‘hero’ off his shoulders. 

And if he could help, he would.

“Do we have any maps?” he asked.

The maps she did have were peculiar to say the least, but even the old ones had use, as he showed her how historic battles had been won and lost, telling the old stories not in terms of heroes and fate, but in terms of men lost, weather conditions, food supplies, and the lay of the land. 

She propped her chin up on her hands, or leant against Gryphon, who was also in regular attendance at his lectures, and listened intently. They played the parts of opposing generals, and history took some odd turns, as he outfought her in a dozen different battlefields. She barely knew how to read and write, but she brought a determination and a fierce intelligence to bear on every problem, as well as a certain animal cunning and perhaps an overabundance of optimism.

Not all lessons went as planned, however. More than once Loghain would look up upon hearing no response to a question to see her sleeping quietly against her dog. He’d cough pointedly and she’d wake, smile a bit sheepishly and suggest they continue another day. He never said so, but he looked forward to it.

A week’s tuition wouldn’t turn her into a master strategist, but she’d watch the terrain with a more critical eye at least, and maybe that would make a difference in the end. 

Orzammar was much the same as Loghain remembered it, at least physically, but there was a tension in the streets that certainly hadn’t been there the last time he’d visited. The Warden also opened his eyes to a side of the Dwarves he had never seen.

She was a brand.

It was the first thing any of the other dwarves saw, and they wielded the word aggressively at her. The first time someone used it Loghain heard the Warden’s sharp intake of breath, and saw her stiffen. When the guard had gone, she bowed her head, her hand drifting up momentarily as if to touch her face.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” she muttered.

After that no amount of condescension or snide remarks got a reaction out of her, although Loghain sensed a certain shortness of temper. He’d been a commoner too, but by the time he started mixing with nobility he was hailed as a hero, and had the king at his side. The Warden had no such defences. The dwarves seemed to regard the Warden’s companions as one would regard a travelling circus; a spectacle to be treated with a certain amount of suspicion.

A cloud had settled over the group by the time they made it to the Diamond Quarter, and the Warden was approaching the noble houses with a less than enthusiastic expression when a dwarf ran up to them and practically launched herself at the Warden.

“It is you!” 

“Rica?”

The dwarves beamed at each other.

“Look at my little sister, a battle-scarred veteran.”

“Look at you, dripping with jewels.” 

Rica explained her new, luxurious circumstances and the Warden’s jaw dropped. “So I’m, I’m an aunt then?”

Rica just smiled proudly. “And these are your fellow Grey Wardens?” she asked.

“Actually, only other Grey Warden is Loghain here.” 

The Warden introduced them, and Loghain inclined his head in a courtly manner. Rica looked very impressed.

“He’s so noble,” she said in hushed tones to her sister.

The Warden chuckled, “I thought all humans were like that at first. And tall too.” Loghain noted that she didn’t contradict her, however. The sisterly bonding didn’t last long, as there were more pressing matters at hand. Rica suggested they throw their weight behind the Aducan candidate – her lover, Prince Bhelen.

The Warden shrugged, “One’s as good as the other as far as I’m concerned. Let’s see if we can get your man a crown.” And that was that, although Loghain suspected that Dwarven politics wouldn’t be as simple as making an impassioned speech in front of the Assembly, no matter how persuasive the Warden could be when she put her mind to it.

“I didn’t know kingmaking was a hobby for some people,” Loghain said dryly, as they set out in search of nobles to persuade.

“It’s more like a habit,” the Warden replied. “Or a skin condition. You think you’ve cured it, and it appears somewhere else.”

He noticed she was much happier in the Deep Roads than in Orzammar, but soon enough, they were back. 

And going to Dust Town. 

“Home sweet home,” she said sarcastically. At least here she was no longer singled out as a brand. And then there was, “Leske?” 

“Well look at you!” The dwarves thumped each other in a friendly sort of way on the arms. “Don’t tell me you’re coming back to die already?”

“Not a chance. Figured I’d see what kind of trouble you were getting into without me.” 

“Plenty, Jarvia wants to take me apart, layer by layer. I didn’t know I had so many layers.”

The Warden folded her arms, “Maybe I’ll take the heat off you for a while then. Can you tell me where the Carta hideout is these days?”

“Your old house, of all places. Tunnelled right through the back.”

“I’m glad Rica got out in time. Leske, when we’re done here, come with me. Fight some darkspawn. I could use the help.” She nudged him with her elbow encouragingly.

“I don’t know, salroka, that’s the surface. I’ll, I’ll think about it.” And then he was gone.

The fight in the Warden’s old home was short and brutal, as there was no room for careful tactics or positioning. And afterwards, the news was grim. Leske had betrayed her. 

“I can’t believe it,” she growled. “I can’t believe he thought this lot was enough to kill me! Has Jarvia rotted his brains as well as his spine?” She ran her hands through her hair before taking one last look around the filthy hovel she’d been raised in.

Leliana put her hand on the Warden’s arm, offering comfort, and got a wan smile in response. “Yes,” she nodded, “yes, alright. Let’s do this.” 

To Loghain’s surprise, he didn’t see anger in her eyes. Just regret. She led them through the Carta hideout methodically, and mentioned offhand that she’d escaped from there once before. 

“Got Leske out too,” she added absently, going through the pockets of the corpse at her feet. 

When they met Leske again, she didn’t hesitate. She spoke with him briefly, but Loghain could sense it was a formality. They had nothing left to say to each other. And then they fought. Jarvia had obviously pulled every man she had into this fight, and Loghain only caught a glimpse of the Warden pulling her blade out of Leske’s neck before the battle swallowed them both up again. 

When the Carta queen finally fell, the Warden’s group was barely standing. Wynne looked as pale as a ghost, and Loghain sensed he had more magic in his veins than blood. 

“What a sodding bloody mess,” the Warden said. She knelt by Leske’s corpse, “Stone take you, brother. Probably doesn’t want you, but it’s the thought that counts.” After a moment of silence, she left without another word. 

Rica had told them they were free to stay in the palace if they wanted, but much to Zevran’s vocal disappointment, the Warden paid for rooms at the inn instead. “To be honest, I think it’s safer here than in the Diamond Quarter. The ale is less likely to be poisoned.”

“I have a hard time believing poison would make any difference to Dwarven ale,” Morrigan said, obviously less than happy about having to share accommodation. Loghain suspected the true reason for the Warden’s decision had something to do with her mother, who hadn’t been particularly happy to see any of them and was possibly one of the most depressing people he’d had ever met.

Loghain had had enough palace living to last a lifetime, and didn’t object.

When it became obvious that she wasn’t going to suggest another strategy lesson, he found himself seeking her out. Not for her own sake – Leliana and Wynne could provide far more sympathy than he ever could and he’d seen the elf offer his own particular brand of counselling earlier (and get rejected, with a warm laugh and a smile) – but for his own.

She was sitting with Gryphon in front of the fire in the little common room, running a stone along the length of her blades. She looked mildly surprised to see him, and Loghain found it difficult to explain why he was even there. 

“You seem calm,” he said, “For someone who has been betrayed by a friend.”

She shot him a shrewd look. He suspected he was quite transparent, but he had to know why she wasn’t angry. Why she forgave her friend without bitterness. She flipped her blade over and started on the other edge. Gryphon gazed up hopefully at him, and Loghain shook his head sharply. He didn’t have any cheese on him.

“I know why he did what he did,” she said eventually, looking back at the fire. “I can’t say I would have done the same, but I can’t say I’d have done different either. As far as he was aware, I was never coming back.” 

Loghain dropped into a chair that was far too low for him, and rested his arms on his knees, not interrupting.

“It’s Dust Town. It’s being what we are, Casteless. You survive. You do anything. Rica batted her eyelashes at any noble that looked at her twice, I …did other things. Not things befitting of a Grey Warden. I forced myself not to care about the people I hurt. And Leske was the same.” She tested the blade with her thumb. “Leske didn’t feel he had any choice. I know that feeling. I lived with it too. I got lucky. He didn’t. He’s dead, I’m alive. Poor duster.”

Satisfied that her weapons were sharp, she slipped the stone back into her pack and got to her feet. Loghain felt her gaze on him and looked up from the fire. “Thank you, for telling me that.”

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Loghain. The people you betrayed are dead. No one but their shades can forgive you.”

“I wasn’t asking or expecting absolution from you,” he said sharply, feeling slightly defensive.

“Well, good. And goodnight. I’ll eat my boots if we don’t end up back in the Deep Roads before all this is over, so get some sleep, salroka.” 

He still didn’t understand why she called him that, but he appreciated it. More than he expected. It was a warm word, but rough. Too many times ‘friend’ had been a lie for him to trust it anymore. But he trusted ‘salroka’. He trusted her.

Logain remained there for a while longer, absently scratching Gryphon behind the ears. It hadn’t been forgiveness he’d sought and found. 

It had been hope.


	5. Chapter 5

As Donni had suspected, they soon found themselves in the Deep Roads, with a drunken warrior for company. She had to wonder, again, just how desperate they were. Still, even staggering drunk, Oghren could swing a sword hard enough to split darkspawn in two, and for now that was all that was required of him. 

She did start to wonder if the darkspawn would start to smell them coming though, even before they sensed her and Loghain. 

She’d surprised herself by feeling very little regarding Leske’s betrayal. As she’d told Loghain, she understood why he’d done it, and she didn’t have the energy to feel too hurt. Far worse things had happened, and were likely to happen yet. She’d mourn him when she found the time to mourn Duncan.

Ever since Loghain had joined their group, she’d found it harder to rely on Duncan’s memory for advice. He’d been the imaginary voice of experience in her head, but Loghain was the real thing. She had to guess what Duncan would have done; she merely had to ask Loghain. 

Not that she always took his advice. She knew what her group was capable of, he didn’t, and she found he underestimated them, at least at first. At least he no longer underestimated the darkspawn. But she always listened to what he had to say, and they had yet to get into any of the infamous shouting matches she’d heard rumours of at Ostagar.

The Deep Roads were strangely empty of darkspawn, and Donni was aware that every moment they spent underground was a moment that the surface was unguarded. She still had a hard time believing that she’d really amassed an army. So far all she had to show for it was a handful of promises. 

And still they headed deeper, sleeping whenever they found somewhere defensible, eking out the food and water in their packs. They’d met a scavenger, and Donni was determined to eat rocks before she’d eat what he ate. Oghren knew where they were going, up to a point, but Donni had never imagined the Deep Roads would be so big. For the first time she was struck by the enormity of what the Dwarves had lost in Blights past.

“Theoretically,” she said conversationally to Loghain, as they traversed an endless underground road. “If we kill the Archdemon, it could be another four centuries until there’s another one.”

“Your point?” he asked. “I don’t think either of us will be in any position to contribute to that particular battle.”

“Well, no, but maybe the Grey Wardens should come down here more often. Not just …for the last time. Everyone but the Dwarves forget what Darkspawn look like. And people like you start to see the Grey Wardens as some sort of legend, rather than people to be listened to.”

“Is that a serious suggestion or are you trying to be irritating?”

“I suppose it’s a bit hopeful, isn’t it? Not to mention, it would mean going back through Orzammar.” Her eyes narrowed. After seeing what life was like on the surface, her old home was not comparing favourably at all.

Loghain was silent. Donni thought the conversation had ended when he spoke up again.

“You are drastically underestimated by your people.” And with that he dropped back, effectively ending the conversation and leaving Donni slightly shocked. He’d made a stab at cheering her up. 

She smiled to herself.

They were gnawed on by spiders, ambushed by spirits and nearly flattened by golems, and that was before they saw the Archdemon belching blue flame above what appeared to be a million darkspawn slowly marching through The Dead Trenches towards the surface. They cowered, watching in horrified fascination until it launched itself into the subterranean dark.

“That was the Archdemon?” Leliana asked in a horrified whisper.

“I hope so,” Donni said. “I’m not sure what I’d do if there turned out to be two of them.”

“One each,” Loghain said, still staring at the darkspawn below. Donni grinned, although he wouldn’t see it; she appreciated the joke.

They met up with the Dead Legion, and even these dwarves plainly thought their little party was completely mad. Even after they’d taken back the bridge spanning the trench (the Archdemon had been _right there_ ), their opinion wasn’t revised. 

Donni was surprised to learn that Loghain had encountered these dwarves before, but he said little about it, other than Maric had sought, and obtained, their help to retake the throne. 

Then they were in the darkspawn lands, and despite the withdrawal to the surface, the darkspawn were everywhere. Every inch of ground had to be paid for in darkspawn blood, and after days underground they were all caked in it. 

But the worst lay ahead. 

“This stone looks diseased,” Wynne said, staring in horror at the fleshy sacks that hung from the walls and bulged from the floor. 

“I can hear someone!” Donni exclaimed. “That whispering, can you hear it?” 

“Aye, up ahead, maybe we’ve found them.” Oghren hurried ahead.

“Oi!” Donni scowled and scrambled to catch up. “Maybe it is and maybe it ain’t.”

When they found the source of the poetry, and Donni felt her blood run cold. Horrible things had happened here. But they had to press on, despite the slippy floor, the ghastly stench and the fleshy sacks that disgorged vile contents when punctured. Despite the foreboding that coiled in her stomach. 

Donni recoiled as a wave of revulsion washed over her and she heard the horrified gasps of her companions the first time they saw it.

Her.

Broodmother.

“Maker’s breath,” Loghain muttered. 

They attacked, Donni keeping close under Loghain’s shield until they were right against the monster. A ropey tentacle as thick as a man’s leg descended on them, knocking them both flying. Donni managed to keep her balance, just, her feet skidding on the slimy floor, while Loghain landed on his back in a crash of armour. 

“Stay back!” Donni ordered. “We can’t get close.” She sheathed her weapons and grabbed Loghain’s gauntleted hand as he struggled to rise. She threw herself back, using all her weight to help him to his feet. “You okay?” she asked.

He nodded. And then she ducked as he swung his sword over her head, lashing out at a tentacle that had sprouted beside them. She reached for her bow.

Donni could barely stomach to look at the corpse of the broodmother, but she stayed in that repulsive chamber long enough to wish what had once been a dwarf safe passage to the Stone. The party that emerged was a lot more subdued and paler than the one that had entered. But they had to press on. 

Branka awaited them.

Donni was fed up. She spat back at the paragon just as aggressively as Branka spoke to them, but it got them nowhere. Branka had a plan, and nothing would divert her.

“Your wife,” Donni said to Oghren as they were herded towards the traps that guarded the Anvil, “is an utter bitch.” 

“Look, it’s the Anvil. She’s just a bit-“

“Shut up; golems incoming. Take the one on the left.” Her blades blunted on the stone skin of the golems, sparks flying with every swing. Bruised and battered, they staggered into the presence of the Anvil, and its creator.

And once again, Donni was faced with a choice. 

“Please, destroy the Anvil,” Caridan boomed. 

“No! The Anvil is mine!” Branka snarled, and Donni looked from one to the other, enraged that once again it had come down to her.

“What would Duncan do?” she asked herself quietly. Anything to defeat the darkspawn, right? The golems had given Orzammar a hundred years of peace. An army of them would help her cause immeasurably. But the price was so high. What would Duncan do?

She caught Loghain’s eye and he raised his eyebrows at her indecision, but said nothing.

“I,” it sounded like surrender to her, “I can’t let you do it. I’ll destroy the Anvil.” It didn’t feel like the choice Duncan would have made. Donni felt weak, even as she followed Oghren into battle against his own wife.

And when the battle was over, she approached the Anvil with a bowed head. I’m sorry, Duncan. There was a line, who knew it even existed even for a Casteless? A line over which she couldn’t cross. 

She barely paid attention to the coronation, and refused to be drawn when Rica tried to find out what was wrong. She just wanted to see the back of Orzammar. 

The first night they were outside again she sat by the fire and stared up at the stars, her fingers digging into the ground in an automatic precaution against falling upwards, as she felt the familiar vertigo induced by the night sky. Tonight Duncan’s ghost was a disappointed shade, hovering around the edges of her mind, chastising her. She knew this wasn’t the right frame of mind to be approaching Redcliffe, but couldn’t see what to do about it.

She’d broken her vow to Duncan. He wouldn’t have lost the Anvil.

Shale had asked for details of the events surrounding the Anvil, and Donni had explained it as best she was able. Shale had sounded quite thoughtful, and Donni had left it contemplating what they had discovered.

When Shale approached the fire again, crystals gleaming, Donni assumed it had thought of more questions, but to her surprise, the golem halted in front of Loghain instead, and Donni couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. 

“It could have won its battle. It knows this, surely?”

“I am to be subjected to the golem's ruminations, now? Charming.” 

Shale ignored Loghain’s sarcasm, continuing on as if he’d said nothing at all. “It said that it did what it had to do in order to protect its nation, but that is not true, is it?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, golem.”

Donni tilted her head. Shale appeared to tolerate Loghain as yet another squishy creature, barely worth noticing, and it was strange that it would attack him so persistently. Usually Wynne did that.

“It could have slain the woman, Anora. Then it would have been made king long before any challenge could have been made.” 

“You are speaking of my daughter, if you are not aware.”

“I am aware. It said, however, that it would do anything that it had to. But this was not true.”

“I was unwilling to kill my own daughter. Yes, that is true. You think me weak for it?” Logain sounded quite irritated now, and Donni understood the feeling. Shale could be relentless in its questioning when it chose to be.

“I am uncertain. Had it known then what it knows now, would its decision have been different?”

Loghain sighed, “No. No, I would not have killed her. Even had I known.”

“Then... I am content.” 

And without any further commentary, Shale turned and walked away, leaving Loghain scowling magnificently. Donni stared as the golem clumped past, back to its usual spot. 

It turned and looked at Donni, “It’s quite welcome, by the way. Perhaps it will prefer to measure itself by its own standards, rather than someone else’s now.”

Donni folded her arms, “You’re too clever by half, Shale.”

“I’m glad it noticed.”

Anora was Loghain’s line. Somewhere Duncan must have drawn a line too, Donni was sure of it. She took a deep breath and felt some of the tension drain out of her shoulders.

“We have all the golems we need, anyway.”


	6. Chapter 6

As they marched on Redcliffe, Loghain saw Fereldan bestir itself for war once again. The bannorn had called up all the able-bodied fighters they could, and stalwart farmer’s sons and strong smith’s daughters were sharpening steel and dusting off family armour in every hamlet and village they visited. 

Loghain was glad he was a part of this. It was a worthy fight, far worthier than the civil war he’d nearly precipitated.

The Warden was tense. She’d recovered from her trip to Orzammar fast, and had her mind set on the Archdemon, which roared almost constantly in their heads. She’d been right, Loghain discovered, in that it was possible to sleep through the mental din. But the sleep was not a restful one, and even the Warden’s makeup couldn’t hide the shadows under her eyes. 

Loghain hadn’t been to Redcliffe in a long time, but he was fairly sure the darkspawn were a new addition. The Warden just glanced at her companions with a funny smile when they were told the grim news.

“Does this feel familiar to anyone else?”

She poisoned her blades and Loghain hefted his sword. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were already too late, to save Redcliffe, certainly, but where was the rest of the darkspawn army? He knew they had to be elsewhere. He could sense it. It was just enough information to madden him; not quite enough for him to have a definite answer, or formulate a proper strategy.

First things first. Redcliffe had to be reclaimed. 

Everyone fought with a new energy, one that Loghain knew couldn’t be sustained for long. This would not be a drawn out war, and he expected that either they or the Archdemon would be dead within a week or two. Everyone else sensed it too. Things would end, soon.

Loghain didn’t know how he felt about that. A week ago he was happy to die, and he was still tired, still burdened, but he didn’t want to die quite yet. The Warden had to succeed, and he would not die early and abandon her. Did he want to survive the battle? He wasn’t sure.

Easier said than done. A darkspawn arrow grazed his neck above his armour, a lucky shot that wasn’t quite lucky enough. The archer got one of Leliana’s arrows between its eyes in return. 

It was late afternoon when they ascended the path to Redcliffe Castle, bloody but triumphant. Eamon and Riordin were waiting for them, and even Alistair was about somewhere. The elder warden looked as tired as they did, and he waited silently while Eamon explained what had happened while they were gone. The darkspawn had drawn them away with a feint.

Denerim would fall, unless they acted immediately.

The Warden agreed that they would march at dawn, to meet whatever fate awaited them. The capital had to be defended at all costs. Loghain thought of Anora, locked in her tower, and he felt as if his heart was being squeezed. 

After the briefing, Riorden insisted that they talk to him in private, and as they made their way upstairs in his wake, the Warden smiled grimly. 

“Do you think it will be good news?” 

“Oh, undoubtedly. Becoming a Grey Warden has been one good piece of news after another, after all.”

She laughed briefly and nodded. Gallows humour was about all they had left. 

As it turned out, the news wasn’t as bad as Loghain had feared. After all they had faced, it wouldn’t have surprised him if the cost of an Archdemon’s death had turned out to be much higher. The Warden, he could see, didn’t agree. She recoiled, and stared at Riorden with a mixture of anger and hurt. She looked her age then; far too young. 

“As the eldest, the task falls to me,” Riorden said, “but if I fail.”

“I get it,” the Warden cut in. “We do what we have to. ‘In death, sacrifice’.”

Riorden bowed his head, and told them to get some sleep.

They stood in the hallway for a few moments. 

“I’m going to…go,” she said, still staring at the floor. Loghain could see her trying to think of a way out, but he felt no such urgency. It would be a fine way to die. If Riordan failed, he would not hesitate to strike the fatal blow for her. It had, after all, been why he was still alive, in a nebulous sense. Now it had been laid out for them clearly. 

The Warden hurried off to her room, and a few minutes later when Loghain stalked past in search of his own, he heard her voice, angry and almost pleading. He’d never heard that tone from her before, and he hurried past; whatever she was saying, it wasn’t meant for his ears. And it unnerved him to hear her so emotional. When cracks had appeared in her shell, she’d repaired them fast, and moved on. 

He heard Morrigan’s measured tones in response, and he frowned. Not the confidant he’d have expected. 

He polished his armour. He knew he wouldn’t get much sleep, and there didn’t seem to be a lot of point in trying. When the castle quietened down a bit, he’d lie down and rest for a while, but not yet. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Enter.” He couldn’t imagine anyone but the Warden having any desire to speak to him, and sure enough, it was the dwarf that poked her head inside cautiously. Her expression was odd, to say the least, and Loghain laid his gauntlet aside.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She was still dressed in her bloodstained armour. 

“Uhm, yes.” He waited silently for her to get to the point; it was unusual for her to be so uncertain. She took a deep breath. “I have a…a proposition for you,” she said, almost shyly.

“What?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. She was going an interesting shade of pink, and something kicked in Loghain’s chest. 

“Please hear me out.” She stepped forward, holding up her hands placably, as if he were a wild animal that needed soothing. “You don’t have to say yes, of course, but I thought I should make the offer.”

If this was her idea of seduction, it was terrible. Maybe it was a Dwarven thing. He’d turn her down, of course, as it was the only sensible option. But he was flattered. More than he’d have expected, given the circumstances. Not that he’d ever gone so far as staring, of course, but who wouldn’t have noticed the way she walked, and that smile-

“Wouldn’t the elf be a more suitable choice?” Finally his mind came up with something that made sense, and he reached for it like a drowning man.

“No, it has to be you, I’m afraid.”

His hormones liked that, even as his brain tried to work out what was wrong with the phrasing. He got to his feet, “Look, you’re very pretty for a dw- err, you’re very pretty. And self-assured, obviously, but we’re hardly friends. It doesn’t seem that appropriate that we just leap into…” He finally noticed that her eyes were getting wider and her complexion was getting darker with every word he said.

“I didn’t mean that kind of proposition,” she said in a rather strangled tone. “Well, in a sense I did, but- I should start at the beginning.”

“Yes,” he replied heavily, “I think you should.” Before he had time to work out if he was disappointed or merely bemused, she continued. 

“Not that I wouldn’t, necessarily, uh.” She shook her head, and hurried on, practically stumbling over the words. “Anyway, you know how we have to die tomorrow? Well, one of us at least.” 

“My memory isn’t quite that bad.”

“Well, this is Morrigan’s idea.” 

“That fills me with confidence.” 

“Stop interrupting! This is difficult enough as it is. She says that if she tumbles a recently-recruited Warden, that’s you, then when the Archdemon dies it won’t kill anyone. And she’ll have a baby that’s an old god in human form.” She gave Loghain an uncertain look, “It sounded better when she explained it.”

“I can’t imagine how it could sound much worse.”

“I know! But I don’t want to die tomorrow. I mean, facing almost certain death, sure. I’ve done that a dozen times this week. But walking up there, knowing there is no way out, it’s just not, it’s not,” she looked up at him, guilty, “fair.”

“You don’t have to, I’ll do it. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“If that arrow had been an inch to the right, you wouldn’t be here for this conversation,” she said, looking pointedly at the scabbed wound on his neck. “I mean, what are the odds all three of us die before we even meet the Archdemon? Then it’s up to Alistair, and Rioden’s not sharing this information with him, I gather.”

Loghain pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you ordering me to do this?” 

“No!” She shook her head vehemently enough that her braids swung. “No, that would be doing to you what Beraht did to Rica. This whole plan sounds like something that’s going to turn around and bite us in the arse in twenty years time, I know this. But I don’t want to be the only Grey Warden in Fereldan. And I don’t really want you to die, either, you know.”

Loghain didn’t say anything. Morrigan’s plan made him feel vaguely ill, and although he would have resented being ordered, it would have made things easier, in a way; now whatever he did, he’d have to take some responsibility for it.

She looked up at him, hesitant. 

Loghain looked at her and the months fell away as he recalled another meeting on the eve of a battle. He saw the same uncertainty, the same misplaced trust in a hero. He’d expected this dwarf girl to die. He’d done his best to ensure that she did, for reasons that had nothing to do with her. For a moment she’d represented every innocent to die by his words and deeds. For weeks she’d represented everything he hated. For a few days, she’d represented everything he’d been before Maric’s death. And now she was just a woman not too proud to admit she didn’t want to die, and asking for his help, probably against all better judgement.

He felt the scratch on his neck. It wasn’t as if there wouldn’t be plenty of opportunities to die in Denerim, and he’d gotten used to his role as protector. As her protector. 

“I’ll do it,” he heard himself say. He didn’t give himself time to think further, stepping past her and striding out fast enough that she had to scramble to catch him up.

“It won’t be that bad.” He heard her voice at his elbow, presumably trying to be encouraging. “Morrigan’s attractive, right?”

He shot her a look and she abandoned that topic.

They were outside Morrigan’s door when he felt her touch his hand. “Hey,” she said softly, “I know you’re doing this for me, not you. So, you know, thank you.” She hovered for a few seconds, and he had the strangest impression that she wanted to give him a hug.

“Right, let’s get it done.” He turned away.


	7. Chapter 7

Donni’s part in the night’s proceedings was over, but she felt it was deeply wrong to just retreat to her room and go to sleep, even though she doubted either of the participants had anything to say to her. She had the feeling that even if Loghain had been warming up to her, she’d probably ruined that.

Well to dust with it. And to dust with him. She didn’t want to die, and certainly wasn’t prepared to commit suicide for at least another thirty years. She was a rogue, and she always had a, how had Morrigan put it? A loop for every hole. An ace up her sleeve, a plan B. 

At least, that’s how she was rationalising it. He really hadn’t looked happy, even by his usual standards of cheerlessness.

She’d expected it to be the most excruciating conversation she’d ever taken part in, but the reality of it ended up being far worse. Loghain misunderstanding her intentions hadn’t helped. It wasn’t like she was looking for his attention in the first place, but being rejected still stung.

So she paced restlessly up and down the battlements, watching her mismatched army trying to snatch what sleep it could, Gryphon trotting at her heels.

She wasn’t expecting to see Morrigan. The witch looked just as calm and disinterested as she usually did, but she normally wasn’t one to seek Donni out, and there was no other reason for her to be out on the battlements.

“Are you all right?” Donni asked, once they were close enough to speak quietly.

“Of course I am. He’s a man, not an ogre.”

“Yes, I know that.” Morrigan gave her an odd look, and Donni continued, “I mean are you going to be all right?”

“I shall be fine. Mother and I made extensive plans.”

“So it turns out,” Donni said sourly, leaning against the cold stone and folding her arms. “I never figured you’d be the type to hang around for the victory party, but still. You’re just gonna leave? Like that?”

“Yes,” Morrigan said firmly. “And you’ve already agreed not to look for me.” 

“Somehow I think I’ll have enough to do as it is.”

“It was a surprise to me, but I shall miss you, I think. You’ve been a good friend.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you were with us.” 

They stood in silence for a while, staring out at the lights of Redcliffe reflected in the lake. 

Eventually Morrigan threw Donni an amused look, “He was not thinking of his dead wife.”

“Huh?” Donni raised her eyebrows. “How do you know?”

“A man reliving a fond memory and a man indulging in pure fantasy are two different things, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Oh. I suppose.” Donni wasn’t going to argue the point. “Why are you telling me this?”

Morrigan merely smiled enigmatically, “Take care of yourself Donni. If you die tomorrow all of this would have been for naught.” 

“Well, I’ll do my best.” Donni sighed. “You know, you can come back. If things don’t go as planned, I could try to help.”

“Ah, foolish sentiment, indeed.” Still, she was smiling.

Feeling a bit better about things, Donni headed back to her room, intent on getting what rest she could. 

She met Loghain as he came up the stairs. His hair was wet. The shared a silent look of utter guilt for a few moments before they broke eye contact and hurried past each other. Donni knew she’d coerced him somehow, and even if it was potentially to save her own life, she didn’t feel good about it.

Why he looked so guilty she didn’t know. Anger would have made more sense. 

She forced herself to put Loghain out of her mind. Tomorrow they were going to end the Blight or die trying.

Dawn came too quickly, and Donni buckled on her armour with fingers still clumsy from sleep. She did her hair and face and hurried down to meet the others, trying to avoid having to share a table with Loghain. No such luck; they met at the stairs and exchanged ‘good morning’s without making eye contact.

Breakfast was an awkward affair, with Morrigan acting just as she usually did while the Grey Wardens snuck uncomfortable glances at her and occasionally at each other. Donni could handle embarrassing morning afters; she’d made her share of drunken mistakes after all, but when there was a third party involved and blithely complaining about the food, it was just a bit too much.

Back on the road again and Oghren and Leliana got into an argument over what was and what wasn’t an appropriate marching song to raise peoples’ spirits. Donni sided with Leliana, not just because she preferred her singing to Oghren’s. She didn’t feel like listening to Dwarven songs. Her past and her culture had little for her to be cheerful about.

Donni felt a sudden surge of pride for her group. They’d been drawn together by chance and occasionally coercion, and now they were marching beside her despite the danger. She’d never had friends like these before. She opened her mouth and joined in the chorus of Leliana’s song, a bit out of key and uncertain of the words. The bard beamed at her.

She glanced over her shoulder and caught Loghain looking at her with an oddly wistful expression on his face. She was relieved he wasn’t angry, but still, something had changed. 

They ate on the move, and by evening they could see smoke on the horizon. Denerim. As they got closer they could smell it too, and above the towers the Archdemon flew. 

“Anora.” Donni heard Loghain’s tortured groan. There was nothing they could do; hopefully she was locked away, safe for now, but they wouldn’t know for certain until the battle was over.

Alistair stepped up, and he gazed at the group for a few moments, perhaps regretful. He said his part, he rallied the troops, and Donni was proud of him. He’d come good. And she was glad he wouldn’t be facing the Archdemon with them; talking him out of sacrificing himself wouldn’t have been easy. 

They attacked the gates, the air full of ash and flaming arrows. Donni lost herself to the battle, occasionally catching glimpses of her companions, but her attention was focused only on the next darkspawn, the next kill. 

And then they were clear.

A great cheer rose up, as the gates fell. Riordan beckoned them in close and outlined his strategy. Donni raised her eyebrows at Loghain; did the general approve? He nodded. They all knew that if the Archdemon didn’t die, no careful strategy or number of troops could save them.

Donni clapped Zevran and Morrigan on the shoulders, and nodded at Loghain. She’d made her choice, even as Gryphon howled mournfully at being left behind. There was only time for brief farewells.

They entered through the marketplace, and Donni tossed Loghain the signalling horn. “I appreciate all the lessons, but I think you’re better at that stuff than I am.”

“I understand.” 

She barely recognised the place. Her eyes watered from the smoke, and soon her ears were dulled to the screams of battle. She’d never seen so many ogres in one place, and again and again she drove her blades into broad, leathery backs, Loghain holding off the creatures’ fury as long as he could. 

“Hard work, huh?” Zevran said, cheerfully wiping blood off his forehead. 

“This is the easy bit.”

She was right. Morrigan raised strange lightning storms, and summoned blizzards. Whatever managed to make it through the unseasonable weather found itself blinded and filleted. But it was slow, exhausting work. Hours crept by as they worked their way through the battered city while above them the Archdemon screamed.

Donni glanced up.

“Look!” She pointed as the huge creature seemed to stagger in mid-flight, a roar of pain and rage echoing off the buildings.

“The other Warden has made his move,” Morrigan said. They couldn’t see clearly what was going on, but they all saw Riordin fall.

“No.” Donni raised her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Riordin.”

Loghain bowed his head. 

“The beast did not die,” Morrigan said. It hadn’t taken to the air again, but they could hear it on the top of the fort. “He merely wounded it.”

“Yes, I know, thank you, Morrigan,” Donni snapped. She set her jaw, “Let’s finish the job.”

Only when Loghain summoned help did they hear any news about what was going on in the rest of the city. The gates were still holding despite a surge of darkspawn, and Donni grinned, knowing her friends would hold the line. The rest of the news was confusing and contradictory, as a dozen skirmishes were won and lost, although the darkspawn seemed less organised now the Archdemon was injured.

They charged through Fort Drakon, and Loghain seemed vaguely amused when Donni claimed to know the way out of this prison as well. 

“No cell can hold you?” he asked.

“They haven’t built one yet that can.” 

When they reached the roof, Donni was struck by the sheer size of the beast. 

“We’re going to need help,” she said, as Loghain raised the horn to summon the dwarves. “Ballista!” She pointed, and then started running towards the nearest one, Loghain at her heels. “This’ll sting.” 

She kicked the trigger and the siege weapon discharged, sending an arrow the size of a sapling into the Archdemon’s side. 

“Yeah! Help me load another one. We’ll weaken it from a distance.” To her disappointment, the Archdemon took off, leaping to another part of the roof, out of range. She shrugged. So much for that idea.

Loghain cleared a path for them, battering darkspawn out of the way, ignoring everything but the Archdemon. He staggered as a genloc landed a mace on his back, and Donni decapitated it, but didn’t slow down.

Donni heard Morrigan begin casting a spell and she ducked under Loghain’s shield as they charged at the beast. The ground shook. Loghain raised his sword and Donni darted out between the creature’s feet, seeking a soft underbelly in which to sink her blades.

The creature turned, knocking her down with the back of its leg, and she rolled out of the way of its talons, before striking at it again and again. All she could do was try and stay alive; she didn’t know how much of the blood on her armour was her own, or even if her friends were alive or dead – no, there was Zevran, doing as she was, dancing under the creature’s feet, his expression grim.

The Archdemon turned, and Donni was knocked flying by its tail, landing painfully on some rubble a few feet away. 

“It’s got Loghain!” She heard Morrigan call at her, the mage trying to keep a dozen darkspawn off her, surrounding herself in frost. Donni dragged herself to her feet, reeling from what was likely at least one cracked rib. The Archdemon threw its head back, a gleaming armoured figure in its massive jaws.

Loghain.

He was still alive, just, swinging his sword at the Archdemon’s eye, his shield lost. Not him, she thought, she’d saved him twice over and she’d do it a third time if she had to. Donni forced down a health poultice, her stomach rebelling at yet more noxious herbs. She started to run.


	8. Chapter 8

Loghain was out of time. He could see darkness encroaching at the edge of his vision, as he hacked again and again at the Archdemon. He could feel its jaws crushing him, his armour no match for such strength. He couldn’t feel his legs. 

He turned his head to see a streak of blonde, the Warden, leaping up and driving her blade into the Archdemon’s shoulder. It didn’t appear to notice, intent on killing him. Good. If it gave her a chance-

She swung herself higher, pulling on the blade and driving her second one in, hauling herself onto its back. Riodin had inflicted a great gaping wound on the monster’s back, and she nearly slipped on the blood. He watched her, convinced it would be the last thing he’d see, as she ran up the length of that neck as far as she could, balancing on the spikes before launching herself at its head. 

Her blades flashed, and Loghain felt hot demon blood on his face as she jammed her weapon up to the hilt into the creature’s eye. 

The Archdemon screamed, and he was falling like a rag doll. He hit the ground, the air knocked from him. The Warden landed next to him, empty handed. 

“Give me your sword.” He saw rather than heard her say it; the sound of his own heart was too loud in his ears. He tried to drag himself upright but his legs refused to respond; he didn’t have to look at them to know they weren’t likely to move on their own again. She’d have to do it. He had nothing left. It was the end, and he didn’t want to let go; his heart wanted to keep beating. 

He flung his arm forward, offering her his blade. This felt right, he thought, as she lifted it from his nerveless fingers; this act belonged to her. He wanted to tell her not to look so sad but he had no voice, and she mouthed something useless, probably ‘don’t die’, before she turned away to face the broken Archdemon.

His sword was too big for her. She held it in both hands, staggering slightly as she adjusted to the weight. He rested his head against the ground, unable to lift it any more, and watched her run at the beast, ducking under its jaws and opening its throat. 

How did it still live, he wondered. How did he still live? Maker, he’d been a liar all this time; he didn’t want to die.

She raised his blade above the Archdemon’s head and brought it down. Everything went white.

It could only have been seconds. Loghain shuddered as pain flooded through him. He opened his eyes to see Morrigan looking down at him, her hands still sparking with the magic that revived him.

“That was for her benefit, Loghain,” she said. “Farewell.” 

“Donni?” He sat up, surprised that he could, pushing the pain aside. He looked around, seeing fleeing darkspawn and cheering dwarves and the corpse of the Archdemon with his sword still buried in its head- “Donni!”

There she was. 

Lying still beside the Archdemon. Still dizzy and stumbling, he scrambled to his feet and hurried over to her to kneel down beside what he feared was her corpse. Why had Morrigan healed him rather than her? “Witch! Can you-“ Morrigan had gone.

Donni groaned. Her eyes opened.

“Loghain?” To his surprise she reached for him, wrapping arms around his neck and pulling herself up. “You’re alive! You looked wrecked. Is it dead? Did it work? I have to see.” He moved to the side, supporting her with one arm around her back, so she could look at her handiwork. 

“Morrigan?” She turned her gaze back to him.

“She healed me. And then she left.”

They stared at each other in sheer disbelief that they were alive, sharing breath, talking over each other. He could have kissed her with sheer relief. He almost did.

“So it worked.”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel it? As it went past.”

“It went by us.” 

“We’re alive.” She grinned, and he could see it hurt to do so. “We’re alive, Loghain. I’m alive. You’re alive and you’re still a hero. Better luck next Blight, eh? Come on, help me up. Where’s Zevran?”

He helped her to her feet, and they leant on each other for a few moments. She spotted Zevran limping over to them and waved. 

The darkspawn retreated from the city and Loghain found himself, once again, a hero. The Warden’s – Donni’s – group was reunited, and Wynne healed them. Arl Eamon looked slightly disappointed that Loghain had survived, and Loghain himself didn’t know how he felt about it.

Mostly, he was tired. Too tired to think. Too tired to feel. There was now a sudden silence in his head, where before the Archdemon had ‘talked’ unceasingly. They found themselves back in the palace and Loghain walked over to the nearest bench and collapsed on it. He let his eyes close for a second.

“Father!” 

Loghain opened his eyes. He didn’t know how much time had passed but the palace was still busy, and he’d acquired both another Grey Warden and a dog, the former resting her head on his arm, fast asleep, and the latter curled up at his feet, gnawing on a bone. 

Anora smiled at them, two guards standing a polite distance away but keeping an eye on her.

“Look at you, the country’s greatest heroes, asleep on a bench like a pair of drunks. They have rooms for you, you know, but the dog wouldn’t let anyone wake you up.”

“Anora!” 

“Whosa wha?” Donni lifted her head and blinked sleepily. “Oh, hello Your Ma- err, Anora.” She sat up and Loghain got to his feet, wrapping his arms around his daughter. She was alive. 

“Thank the Maker you’re safe.”

“You should thank Alistair, Father. He sent men to make sure I was unharmed, and suggested I be allowed to see you. I was so worried.” She ignored the dried blood and hugged him back fiercely, although he couldn’t feel it through his armour; it had usually been this way, but for the first time he regretted it. 

Loghain looked up to see the king watching them, and he nodded stiffly. He wasn’t ungrateful for this opportunity. 

“Alistair.” Donni got off the bench and hurried over to him, Gryphon trotting after her with his bone.

“He’s being more than fair,” Anora pointed out.

Loghain sighed. 

“Anyway, you should get cleaned up. They’re going to have a celebration, and a coronation.” She stepped back to look at him and went slightly pale when she saw some of the damage to his armour. “Maker’s Breath, it really is a miracle you’re here.” She collected herself. “I won’t be there, but Alistair has graciously agreed that you are free to see me, as long as you go unarmed.”

“Talked to him a lot, have you?” Loghain knew his daughter well, and suspected she hadn’t given her throne just yet.

She merely smiled. 

Loghain didn’t feel terribly welcome at the celebrations, and he excused himself as early as it was polite to. Donni appeared to have a great time, hugging her companions and imbibing more than her fair share of ale. Alistair had been fairly curt, and had made no secret of the fact that he wanted them packed off to Vigil’s Keep as soon as possible. 

Loghain did not object. He was free to write to Anora, and that was more than he had been expecting. Alistair hadn’t said much on that point only that, “She should get to keep her father.”

Perhaps there was hope for the boy after all. 

There seemed an endless list of things to do, things to organise. Cauthrien had to be persuaded not to follow Loghain into the Grey Wardens. Donni had no objections, but Loghain refused to condemn his loyal second of so many years to a martyr’s death in the Deep Roads. And Denerim would need her. Donni spoke in her favour and Alistair agreed that she should keep her position.

Alistair was being very agreeable, all things considered, and Loghain was afraid he’d agree to too much, and with the wrong people. Donni just rolled her eyes at him whenever he brought it up, however.

“Except for a certain blindness where Duncan is concerned, he has a ridiculously overdeveloped sense of duty,” she said. “Kind of reminds me of someone, actually.” She smiled at him in a most irritating fashion, and Loghain scowled. He did not appreciate the comparison.

“Speaking of the Orlesians,” Donni lowered her voice and Loghain was obliged to lean in to hear her. “They’re going to ask questions about the Archdemon. Specifically, why I’m still alive. We need to get our stories straight.”

“That I can agree with.” Loghain couldn’t see the other Grey Wardens being particularly understanding with regards to Morrigan’s ritual. 

“Riordin was alive, with us, on the roof. He was injured and out of the fighting, but took the last blow and got thrown off when the Archdemon died.” Donni shrugged, “Unless you can think of something better? I don’t think anyone was watching too closely except Morrigan and Zevran, and most of the Dwarves who were up there with us have left for Orzammar anyway.”

“Do you think they’ll believe us?”

“They won’t really have a choice. Besides, I can be very persuasive. Zevran will keep his mouth shut, if he’s still around when they arrive.” She sighed, “Everyone’s making plans to leave. I’m happy for them, but...”

“But spending the rest of your days with me in Amaranthine isn’t what you’d hoped for?” Loghain suggested.

“No, that’s fine! What else would I do? I don’t want to go back to Orzammar, even if they do make me a paragon. And frankly, it would look bad if Alistair was seen to be still taking orders from me. And, you know,” she smiled a bit shyly, “Vigil’s Keep sounds nice. I’m just going to miss everyone. I shall write them angry letters if they don’t visit,” she decided.

“I’m sure that will do the trick,” Loghain said dryly. “After all, you are very persuasive.” 

Almost a month had passed before they were finally able to leave Denerim. Loghain spent his days following Donni around, offering suggestions both solicited and not as she tried to scrape together some sort of plan to rebuild the Fereldan Wardens. It came to his attention that the trio was referred to, out of earshot of course, as ‘the Warden and her two mabari’, only one of whom was actually a dog. All things considered, they could have called him any number of things that were a lot worse, and he accepted the name with a certain self-deprecating amusement. 

Gradually the companions took their leave of Denerim, after Donni had extracted promises that they’d visit, and soon. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Donni confided the evening after Oghren had left to find Felsi, as they sat at the table in their quarters at the palace, now empty save for the Wardens and the dog. “I’d hate to be doing this on my own.” 

“Happy to help,” Loghain mumbled shortly.

Donni snorted and regarded him with surprise, “Happy? I haven’t seen you happy about anything.”

Loghain scowled at her.

“See? That’s what I mean, salroka; try smiling sometime.”

Loghain’s found himself trying not to do just that.

The next day, they quit Denerim for good. There were a significant number of veterans of the battle for Denerim who were keen to join the Wardens, but Donni had agreed with Loghain that marching into Amaranthine with an armed company might not be the best way to announce their arrival. 

The Grey Wardens had to get on with the locals, after all, and Loghain had warned Donni that she’d find enough hopeful volunteers waiting for her as it was. They’d go quietly, meet with the local banns, and try and lay diplomatic groundwork while the Grey Wardens still had the country’s goodwill. 

Early sunlight was struggling through thick morning fog when they met at the palace stables, Donni once again in her battered leather gear, and Loghain still getting used to the repairs made to his own chevalier armour. Donni had recommended a smith in the city, and while he’d taken his time, Loghain was quite pleased with the results.

Gryphon bounced around them eagerly, and Donni noted the dog had put on quite a bit of weight during their stay at the palace.

“It’ll do him good to keep up with the horses,” she said.

“Do you know how to ride?” Loghain asked, surprised that she seemed quite at ease with beasts so much bigger than she was.

“Duncan taught me,” she said with a fond smile that Loghain felt irrationally irritated by. “I’m not very good, but we shouldn’t be charging into battle on horseback anyway. I just need a bit of help getting up.”

Loghain knelt and laced his fingers together. She stepped up onto his hands and pulled herself up into the saddle. She looked a bit uncertain as she patted the horse’s neck, but she grinned at him as he stood up. 

Her smile faded and she said thoughtfully, “You do remind me of him.”

“Not Alistair again.”

“No, you don’t really remind me of Alistair.” She shook her head, and shrugged a bit self-consciously, “I meant Duncan.” She took a deep breath, as if dismissing the thought, “Anyway, we should get moving. Our duty awaits us.”

“As always.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Aw, not this again!” Donni tried to shelter under her cloak as light rain swept across the countryside. She found thunderstorms rather exciting, and quite liked sunsets, but she still couldn’t get over water falling from the sky for no apparent reason.

“You’re acting like the Maker himself is spitting in your eye,” Loghain said, ignoring the water that beaded on his hair and trickled down his face. They were in Amaranthine now, and would make their new home by sunset, barring yet more wandering bands of darkspawn.

They had to be careful, now it was just the three of them, and after every fight they’d spread out and look for herbs to make more poultices, which Donni could make in a vaguely competent way. Loghain was picking up the skill as well, and they’d agreed it was something they would teach their new recruits.

Donni felt like she’d come full circle since she left Orzammar. Once again she was on the road, looking forward to joining the Grey Wardens. But she was not the dwarf who had left Orzammar so inexperienced and hopeful, and her companion was not the wise and compassionate leader Donni had taken Duncan to be. Perhaps Loghain was more; they were comrades now, veterans of a battle that had nearly cost them everything. She continued to call him salroka, and he continued to almost-smile every time she did. 

One evening, she even drew his attention to it. 

“Ugh, what did you put in this?” She held her bowl of stew close to her face and inhaled. “Smells like, bitter herbs. Salroka, are you going blind?”

“No,” Loghain said with some amusement. “I’m not the one responsible for cleaning the crockery after using it to make potions. On the bright side, it might do you some good.”

Donni sighed. She couldn’t argue with that, she supposed. “You could have said something.”

Loghain said nothing.

She ate as much of the stew as she could, and gave the rest to Gryphon, who probably cleaned the plates better than she did. She propped her chin up on her hands and watched Loghain eat with a devious smile.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve had your share.”

“I know that! I’m not Gryphon. I was just thinking. Every time I call you salroka, you smile. Or rather, you look like you’re going to, which is the same thing in your case.”

“Huh! That might be true,” he admitted. And he grinned at her. Donni realised then that almost-smiling and actually smiling was not the same thing, not the same thing at all. His eyes lit up and the lines at the corners of his mouth deepened, amused rather than grim, and other lines seemed to vanish all together. It took Donni a few moments to remember to breathe.

“You uh, you should do that more often,” she said eventually, tearing her gaze away from him. Wow.

They arrived at Vigil’s Keep a few days before the Orlesians did. Loghain had been correct in guessing that there were hopefuls waiting for them, and Donni sent them all out as messengers to the local banns, mayors of the towns, anyone she thought was vaguely important. Even she could sense that the locals were jumpy about having a permanently armed force with no strong political allegiance in the vicinity. 

“Thanks to your efforts, Fereldan is almost broke,” Donni said irritably. “So we can’t even promise gold for the region. What we need is a few darkspawn attacks to remind everyone how useful we are. And the Orlesians aren’t going to win us many friends.”

Even Loghain understood that they had to learn how to perform the Joining ritual, and to that end the Orlesians were a necessary inconvenience. Donni knew she desperately lacking in experience with this sort of thing, and that she’d be relying on Loghain to prevent her from making too many mistakes. She just hoped he’d be able to curb his distaste for the Orlesians. She reminded him several times that they’d been through the Joining as well, and that they had more in common than not.

She wasn’t sure he was convinced.

If Loghain had reservations regarding the Orlesian Wardens, they certainly held none for him. To a one they seemed delighted that he had joined them, and seemed to regard his recruitment as a great feather in Donni’s cap. She was a bit nonplussed, but decided to milk it for all it was worth; reassuring them that their involvement with the Fereldan rebuilding project could be minimal with the great general on their side. 

Reports of further darkspawn attacks drifted in, along with more hopeful recruits. Donni got into the habit of asking them lots of questions about their families, and those she deemed too close to them she firmly turned away. She didn’t want to have to do to anyone else what Duncan had done to Ser Jory.

Despite her best efforts, there were still deaths. Donni shouldered the responsibility of telling those who had survived the grim realities of life and death as a Warden. There was a large graveyard at Vigil’s Keep, and that day it grew slightly. That evening the new Wardens took their places in the great hall in the keep, and Donni stepped up to address them.

“Brothers and Sisters, Wardens all, I want to tell you of the Dead Legion.” There were some things Donni had decided to keep from her culture, and when she had met Kardol at the Deep Trenches, she decided that the pre-emptive funerals that the Dead Legion held would be one of them.

“Like us, they will sacrifice themselves to keep others safe from the darkspawn, and like them,” she raised a hatchet usually used for splitting firewood over the lid of a barrel of ale she’d had brought in beforehand, “we’re going to have a funeral first!” There was a cheer as the cask was breached. Donni distributed the booze fast, because she hadn’t finished yet.

“We will remember those who sacrificed themselves for us all.” She picked up a scroll on which she’d written a long list of names, and read, “Duncan, Riordin, Alistair, Daveth, Jori, Donni, Loghain…” She was determined to make this a funeral for them all, and the room was silent as everyone there heard their name called.

And then she declared it a party. There were one or two other dwarves among them, and they got the idea pretty fast. Everyone would be too busy nursing hangovers tomorrow to be worrying too much about the taint that they now carried. At least, that was the plan. Donni found great amusement in drinking humans and elves under the table, who underestimated her because of her height.

Several hours later most of the new Wardens had either staggered off to bed or had fallen asleep where they were, and only a few of the most enthusiastic drinkers were still standing. Donni had been pleased to note that Loghain had stayed for the festivities, losing good humouredly at dice, and letting the new recruits introduce themselves in the less formal setting. 

Donni decided she was nearly done for the evening, getting to her feet and waiting for the room to stop spinning. She just had one thing left to do. She bit her lip to keep a straight face, and sashayed over to her second, who watched her warily.

She halted in front of him, grinning and swaying slightly. “You,” she leaned forward, pointing a finger at him, “I’ve been watching you.”

“Have you now?” he replied, as Donni tried to decide which of him she should address.

Donni covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her laughter. She had to tell the joke first, she admonished herself. “Where- haha, where can I get some sauce for that rump roast?” 

His expression was enough to make her roar with laughter. She staggered and he caught her before she ended up in his lap.

“I think you should go to bed,” she heard him say, and she managed to nod, still laughing.

“Aye, lets take the party upstairs, you mad stallion.” He sighed but didn’t reply as he pulled her to her feet and steered them both out of the room, neither of them walking particularly straight.

“You do realise the others are going to talk now,” he said.

“Pssh, they already see us as mother and father anyway.” She frowned, wasn’t she allowed a few drunken minutes to pretend? He was always so serious, and thus she was never quite game to give teasing him her all, tonight being the exception as she had an excuse. 

She’d calmed down a bit by the time they were outside her room. 

“Hey,” she said, happy to lean on him, “it was a good funeral, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he replied, “one of the best I’ve attended, for certain. It was a fine idea of yours.”

She sighed, “I’m glad. You deserved a good funeral.” 

“So do you.” 

She smiled at him for a few moments then patted him on the breastplate and wished him goodnight. There was no sense in pushing her luck, after all, even if he did look very good even when he was blurred. She remembered what he’d said at Redcliffe castle, all too clearly. 

~~  
“Uh, excuse me?” 

Donni looked up from her poison mixing to see Victor, a painfully young recruit from Denrim’s mean streets, hovering in the doorway. “What is it?” she asked.

“Uh, well, we’re meant to be practicing with Loghain, but he doesn’t seem to want to teach today. So, maybe we could practice by ourselves? Or, do something else?”

“How can you expect to face darkspawn without fear if you’re afraid of your own commander? What’s he doing?” she asked, rising from her seat.

“Breaking practice swords.”

“But they’re solid oak.”

“Yeah…” Victor rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Oh, fine. Find Teyron or Ellie and get them to supervise some sparring. I want to see bruises at the dinner table tonight!” 

Victor nodded and hurried off. Donni scratched her head and went to find Loghain. He was, as reported, battering some training dummies hard enough that splinters were flying. Donni folded her arms and leant against the wall of the courtyard, happy to watch him work up a sweat for a while. 

The wounds the Archdemon had left him with had healed, but Morrigan, as she had said so often, was no healer. Great swathes of scar tissue, white and crumpled, streaked his back and stomach, where the Archdemon’s teeth had buckled his armour and broken through. Donni found it hard to begrudge Morrigan her demon baby after seeing them; she’d worked a dammed miracle to get Loghain on his feet again. He’d been one hell of a farewell gift.

Donni could only thank her silently, and wish her well.

Eventually, Loghain exhausted himself and he tossed the wooden sword aside. Donni raised her eyebrows at him. “What’s your problem?” she asked.

“Alistair,” Loghain growled.

“Alistair?”

“You remember him, I trust.”

“Yeah, why is he a problem? He’s been sending us what funds he can.”

“He’s all she ever talks about! Alistair this, Alistair that.” Loghain picked up his shirt and pulled it on. “He lets her walk about the city, and visits her to talk sometimes-“ Loghain broke off his tirade and glared at Donni, “Why are you grinning like that?”

“Aww, come on, salroka, even you have to admit, she could do a lot worse. Alistair’s kind and loyal, honest to a fault and rather handsome. So she may have started out with her eye on the crown; if she actually falls for the king that can only be in everyone’s interest, right?” Donni fell into step beside him as they wandered out past the gates.

“I do not want that bastard as a son in law. And don’t look at me like that – I can read between the lines. She’s just trying to get me used to the idea subtly.”

“I can’t imagine Alistair is too keen on you as a father-in-law either,” Donni pointed out. “But if he cares about your daughter enough to put that aside – and let’s face it, he has no other reason to do so – you could probably do the same.”

“What, you’re saying if I get a letter with the royal seal asking permission to marry Anora I should say yes?”

Donni looked at him in surprise, “Well, yeah. Be realistic, how can you say no? He’s the king. Besides, if Anora wanted to marry someone, would you really be able to forbid her?”

“Humph.”

“Wouldn’t that be great? We could both go to the wedding, and everyone else would be invited as well, so we could meet up again.” She tried to get Loghain to share her enthusiasm, but he was not convinced.

“I’m going to remind her that she could do a lot better.”

“You should get used to the idea that we don’t get to pick who we fall in love with.”

“I know that.” They stared at each other for a few moments. Loghain looked away, “Which is why I have to take responsibility until she gets over it.”

Donni sighed, “I give up.” She didn’t, of course. She never gave up, even when it seemed hopeless.


	10. Chapter 10

One fine morning, Donni disappeared. 

Loghain began his morning ritual as usual, but instead of seeing Donni at the breakfast table with everyone else, there was a note waiting for him. She’d left instructions for the next few days, and had added ‘Whatever you decide is fine. I’ll be back soon.’ No one seemed to have any idea what had happened, other than Donni had asked for a horse to be saddled early in the morning, and she’d set off with Gryphon and a few supplies.

Loghain stuck with his duties for an hour and a half before he gave in and handed the instructions off to one of the older recruits. He saddled a horse and followed her out into the bright sunshine. He’d picked up more than a few survival skills in his youth, and Donni had been making no effort to cover her tracks.

She led him on a pleasant, meandering course across the countryside, avoiding farms and towns but otherwise with no apparent destination in mind. If she’d wanted a bloody holiday, why hadn’t she said so? He had to work at being irritated; it felt good to be out of the keep, and unobserved by eager recruits. Out here he was just another man on a horse, his armour nondescript; it seemed ridiculous to be in full plate all the time now.

It was late afternoon, and Loghain was still doggedly following Donni’s trail when he heard familiar, friendly barking. Gryphon bounded down the slope, stumpy tail wagging, and looking very pleased with himself. Loghain felt slightly sheepish as he allowed the dog to lead him up the slope, where Donni had set up a little camp, overlooking the valley and the lights of Vigil’s Keep on the other side. 

“Small world,” Donni observed as he dismounted and made his way to the fire. 

“Taking a holiday? You could have told me where you were going.” He set his pack down and sat beside her. She’d started cooking, and Loghain noted that there was probably enough for two, although she might have been planning on sharing with the dog.

“Why? You had no trouble finding me, obviously. Besides, I didn’t know where I was going.” She shrugged. “Why are you here? What about everyone else?”

“They can take care of themselves for a while. You managed to stop a Blight as a raw recruit, so I’m sure the others can handle an evening on their own. What happened, Donni?” She didn’t appear upset, but there had to be a reason for her sudden departure.

She sighed, “I got a letter from Alistair. He’s finally got around to getting a memorial made, for Duncan. It was an invitation to the ceremony.”

“I don’t really see the problem.”

“I promised myself, when the Blight was over, I would mourn Duncan properly. I had to hold myself together until then for Alistair’s sake. But that was nearly a year ago. I just realised that I haven’t kept that promise. I haven’t even wanted to. I just…I don’t know what happened. It all feels so long ago now.”

Loghain didn’t say anything, and Donni continued.

“He was everything. I tried to do everything he would; I tried to live up to his ideal. I didn’t always succeed, though.”

“You did stop the Blight, I think that counts.”

“True. I must admit, I only knew him for a week. It was an amazing week, but still. Long enough for an infatuation, but I can’t say I really knew him.”

Loghain glanced at her sharply. “Infatuation?”

Donni smiled, “Yeah, well, when a Grey Warden swoops in and saves you from certain death, it’s only natural, right?” 

“Hm.” Loghain tried to sound non-committal.

She sighed, “He turned me down, of course. I swear if I hadn’t gone to the Pearl, I wouldn’t know what a naked human looked like.”

Loghain made a kind of choking cough, and stared at her with raised eyebrows. She never lost the capacity to surprise him. He tried to avoid thinking too hard about it, but he felt a sudden anger that a nameless human at the Pearl hadn’t even known who she was, or how lucky he was-

“What?” Donni said defensively. “What else was I supposed to do?”

He shook his head, “I don’t really know. I’ve never met a woman quite like you before.” And that was the honest truth.

“You mean a dwarf girl?”

“No, I think it’s more than that,” he said quietly. “Anyway,” he was determined to steer the conversation back on track, “the way you speak about him, it’s as if Duncan is a symbol, an ideal, rather than a person. And in that sense he didn’t die. Dead people make better symbols than live ones anyway; I learned that the hard way.”

Donni smiled, “Maybe.” She offered him some stew, and although he had bread and dried meat in his pack, he didn’t refuse. A companionable silence descended while they ate.

“Okay!” She stretched, “I answered your question, now you answer mine; what brings you all the way out here? You weren’t worrying about me, were you?”

“You can take care of yourself. I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. As it turned out, you did need my advice,” he pointed out.

“I half expected you’d show up, actually. Might have been disappointed if you didn’t.” She grinned at him before tilting her head back and looking up at the stars. “You’ve been watching out for me a long time.”

“I know,” he said. “Too long.” He spoke so firmly Donni ceased her stargazing and turned her attention back to him. “It’s too easy to let some things slide, but I should have said this a long time ago.” 

He watched her intently, and Donni smiled in an encouraging way. Loghain wasn’t one for making grand declarations, but he wasn’t one for shirking his duty either, and he owed her this.

“Thank you,” he said. “I wasn’t particularly grateful at the time, I know. And I know your reasons didn’t have a lot to do with me, but I’m glad you made the choices you did.” She saved him, although it had taken him a long time to appreciate it. He’d become her right-hand-man, her friend, and had quietly decided it was where he belonged for the foreseeable future. She deserved to know why, to know it was her he was indebted to, and not merely a sense of duty.

“Oh,” Donni grinned and shrugged self-consciously. “I’m glad you said that. You’re very hard to read, sometimes. I’ve made mistakes, I know, but you were never one of them.”

He nodded. He knew that. Donni was quite an open person, and Loghain wasn’t stupid. She admired him quite frankly, and didn’t try to hide her affection. But she always kept her distance, and he could never quite find the right time to take back words he’d come to regret more with each passing month. It wasn’t a matter any longer of what Duncan would have done; he now understood it was what Duncan did that had kept her out of reach. He couldn’t blame her for taking two rejections to heart.

If not now, he thought, then when?

“I’ve made a few of my own,” he began.

“Really? The great Loghain Mac Tir? Mistakes? Well I never.” He should have known she’d try to make light of it. It was her way, to laugh off anything that might make him uncomfortable, or damage a friendship she obviously prized.

“Do you want to hear this or not?” He wasn’t going to let her dissuade him.

“No, please, go on, I am positively agog.”

“In Redcliffe castle.” Her teasing smile faded. “I said some things, implied some things.” He stared off resolutely at the distant lights of Vigil’s Keep, “I said some things that no man in his right mind would have said. It made sense at the time, but now I want to take them back. If you’ll allow me.” 

She stared at him, trying to work out what he was talking about. “Oh,” she scratched her head. “Oh.” Enlightenment dawned. “Why don’t you say these things plainly?” she asked.

“You don’t make it easy.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I don’t blame you. We probably should’ve…”

“Said something a long time ago?” she asked.

“Said. Or…done.” He reached out and placed his hand over hers. 

She pounced on him. In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have been surprised to find himself with an armful of exuberant dwarf. She tangled her fingers in his hair, and stroked his face, wholly unashamed of her desire. And she was utterly greedy. Her teeth scraped on his lower lip, as she kissed him mercilessly, stole his breath, and demanded his mouth. He had to wonder how long she’d been holding this back. 

“So, that’s okay?” she asked, finally pulling back to get a look at him, her eyes firelit and dark.

“Now you ask?” He grinned at her.

She stared at him, like she always did on the rare occasions he smiled. “Loghain?” She ran her fingers down his cheek, “You’re gonna be doing that a whole lot more, from now on, understand?”

“Is that an order?”

She looked at him from under her eyelashes, “Do you want it to be?”

He groaned and pulled her in for another kiss. He let her topple him, landing on his back in the grass. She climbed on top of him, a hand either side of his head. She was a good couple of feet shorter than he was, but he had no doubts they could make it work. He started feeling around for the buckles on her armour, as she bent down to him.

Gryphon suddenly got to his feet and trotted off, as tactful as a dog could possibly be.

“We’ve wasted so much time,” Donni breathed against his mouth.

“Yeah.”

They didn’t waste any more.

When dawn broke over Ameranthine, the fire was out. Loghain opened his eyes and decided that Anora could marry whoever she wanted. She’d probably tease him, and tell him it was Donni’s influence, and given the dwarf herself was curled up against him with her head on his arm he supposed he couldn’t really argue. 

He felt as if the last piece of something had finally fallen into place. Calm. She hadn’t needed him during the Blight; he’d done nothing that Alistair couldn’t have done in his place, but now he knew why he’d survived. He knew why she’d saved him; he’d seen it in her eyes when she turned to face the Archdemon, but he’d felt too old, too guilty. 

So she’d waited. And he wanted to shake her, call her a fool for such a thing because she reminded him of himself, all those years ago. But he couldn’t; he could only be indescribably grateful.

The bedroll wasn’t designed for two, even if one of them was a dwarf, and he tried to make himself more comfortable, jolting Donni awake in the process.

“Hmm…” She opened her eyes and blinked up at him drowsily. “We should head back today,” she said in a voice thick with sleep. “I need to reply to Alistair.”

“I should write to Anora.”

She smiled, and it was like the sunrise. “Changed your mind, have you? You’re getting soft in your old age-“ She squeaked as he rolled on top of her and then laughed. They didn’t have to head back immediately after all.


End file.
